


This Will Be My Last Confession, I Love You Never Felt Like Any Blessing

by I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own



Series: Barduil [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Last words Soulmate!Au, hahaha ooops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:35:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4110952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own/pseuds/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil has long resented the words branded across his heart, the words he knows mean there is not ever meant to be someone at his side. The words that mean he will lose not one, but both of his soulmates. Words that mean he is destined to live on. Endure. Live while they do not. It eats him in ways he did not know words could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Will Be My Last Confession, I Love You Never Felt Like Any Blessing

**Author's Note:**

> Based off this Soulmate!AU post floating around tumblr. http://thranduilland.tumblr.com/post/121170959518/bofurlove-castiel-knight-of-hell-hacash I have an obsession, it would seem.
> 
> Title is from Florence + the Machine 'Heavy In Your Arms'. The entire verse is my favourite. 'This will be my last confession, I love you never felt like any blessing, whispering like it's a secret, only to condemn the one who hears it, with a heavy heart.'

Bard spends a lot of time staring at the words engraved over his heart. The words only he can see. He’d thought for a long time they would be the words his soulmate spoke to him before he died, but he’d been wrong. He’d been so wrong. _Two_. **_Two_** soulmates. Two different sets of last words, written on his heart in such a way as to mislead him into thinking they were one.

_I love you, Bard. Please, don’t leave me, Bard. Please, don’t leave me._

They are two. And he knows that now. Has known every day since the day he lost her. Every day since she was taken from him. Every day since sickness claimed her.

_I love you, Bard._

One set, for his soulmate leaving him, and one set for him leaving his soulmate.

_Please, don’t leave me, Bard. Please don’t leave me._

He would cry if he had the tears for it. But it has been years now, and he has no more tears to cry.

“Da, if you don’t hurry ada along, you’ll never make it to Rivendell.” Bard jerks suddenly at the voice that breaks through his thoughts.

“Right.”  

* * *

Thranduil has long resented the words branded across his heart, the words he knows mean there is not ever meant to be someone at his side. The words that mean he will lose not one, but both of his soulmates. Words that mean he is destined to live on. Endure. Live while they do not. It eats him in ways he did not know words could.

_I love you, give my love to Legolas. Raise him right._

She had asked once, why Thranduil had been so adamant they name their child Legolas. Had asked, but Thranduil could not explain, would not. He learnt enough of prophecy at Melian’s heel, enough to know that actively trying to change the future, only encouraged it to occur in more brutal ways.

_You survived dragon fire and ruin, you can survive losing me._

Thranduil traces the outline of his scar, the proof of his survival. The very real evidence that he stood before dragons and he bested them. Dragon fire and ruin, but he would give anything to face that again than endure the death of yet another in a list of loved ones lost.

“Knock, knock. I come bearing a message from Princess Tilda. Princess Tilda would like me to inform Your Majesty that if we do not leave now, we shall never make our destination.” Thranduil turns slowly to smile at Bard, rolling his eyes as he does so.

“Very well, we wouldn’t want to upset Princess Tilda now, would we?”

* * *

Thranduil has never liked the sight of blood. Not even before Doriath’s fall, when the streets were soaked in the blood of his friends, and the polished floors of the palace sparkled with Thingol’s blood. He has never liked blood. And he likes it less and less the older he becomes.

He yells Bard’s name in the sudden quiet that seems to have befallen them now the last of the orcs are dead.

“Thran?” a quiet voice calls, and Thranduil feels his heart begin to ache in his chest as he follows the sound. His breathing picks up as he spots his beloved, prone on the ground at the centre of a ring of orc bodies.

“Bard!” he exclaims, rushing to the man’s side and falling to his knees, “Bard.” His hands seek out the wound in Bard’s side, it is one of many other wounds, and Thranduil does not have the skill to tend them. “ _Bard_.” He whispers, voice cracking over the name. “Please, don’t leave me.” Thranduil pleads, tears burning his eyes.

 _“You survived dragon fire and ruin, you can survive losing me.”_ Bard replies in a whisper so quiet Thranduil has to lean forward to hear it. His heart tearing to shreds in his chest when he does.

“No, no.” he breathes, shaking his head and swallowing thickly. _“Please, don’t leave me, Bard. Please, don’t leave me.”_ He begs, he has not cried like this in a very long time, he has forgotten how much it hurts. Bard stills beneath his fingers, and a pitiful sound escapes his throat. “Bard, Bard, please!” he cradles Bard in his arms, rocks them side to side, buries his head in Bard’s hair, and he weeps. “Bard.”


End file.
